After the Papillon AU
by Icky Wick
Summary: AU: What might have happened, had Eccleston been a couple of steps further away from Lt. Chadd? WIP
1. Chapter 1

A/n: This is a plot bunny that bit me unawares. If this is not to your liking, please let me know. I'd like to improve someday. :D  
  
DISCLAIMER: Horatio Hornblower, the characters and "universe" do not belong to me! I do not derive any profit herefrom. QED!  
  


* * *

  
The lieutenant straightened and awaited his superior to climb aboard.  
  
"Timely arrival, Mr. Eccleston; timely."  
  
"Yes, Mr. Bracegirdle." The first lieutenant's gaze swept the debris- ridden deck. "Although I wish we could have arrived just a trifle earlier."  
  
"Well yes, there is that," the portly lieutenant commented drily, "but it will provide Mr. Chadd with another excuse to exercise the men--"  
  
"He won't be exercising anyone any more," was Eccleston's cool retort. "I regret to report that Lieutenant Chadd is dead."  
  
"Oh. My apologies then, sir." When Lieutenant Bracegirdle would have commented further, Eccleston interrupted brusquely.  
  
"Where's the captain? I must see him at once."  
  
"Down below, sir." At Eccleston's inquiring glance, the second lieutenant continued, "A nasty splinter in the thigh, a gusher. The doctor thinks he can save the limb, but..."  
  
"Right, then." The senior removed his hat, rubbed his hand through his hair, and replaced the hat upon his head. "Perhaps the good doctor hasn't operated on the captain yet. I'll just pop below and--"  
  
"But sir! You know Hepplewhite; the captain will likely be attended to first. I expect he will be thoroughly dosed with laudanum by now."  
  
"And I expect you're correct, d*** it!" Eccleston muttered and began to pace.  
  
"Sir? May I be of any help?" Bracegirdle drew in a breath. "Has anything happened--?"  
  
"Bloody *Mr* Simpson happened!" Then the tall lieutenant proceeded to describe what transpired aboard the Papillon, from the preliminary ruckus aboard the jolly boat, to the successful cutting-out expedition, to Kennedy and Hornblower's losses, then Hornblower's recovery and subsequent accusation.  
  
Eccleston stopped walking. "The thing is, I'm inclined to believe Mr. Hornblower's version of events, but without objective proof," the first lieutenant shook his head, "my hands are tied. I was hoping the Captain--" He sighed. "I suppose we shall have to wait until the Captain regains his senses. He'll want to attend to the matter himself."  
  
Bracegirdle nodded his agreement. "I daresay he's taken quite an interest in young Hornblower. Not that I blame him one whit. That lad has a lot of potential...and who else but the Captain would ever have discovered it?"  
  
"Not I, and the Captain sees fit to remind me of this daily," Eccleston affirmed in a distracted tone. "But what do we do with him [i]now[/i], by George?"  
  
His counterpart remained silent. It was not his place to tell the acting captain how to perform his duties.  
  
Eccleston sighed. "Very well. First things first, I suppose. I shall take command here until the Captain is able to resume it...and if you would be so kind as to take charge over the Papillon for the time being?"  
  
"Aye aye, sir." A pause. "Just out of curiosity, sir, who would I be relieving?"  
  
"Mr. Hornblower. And please send him over at your earliest convenience."  
  
"Aye, sir," the rotund lieutenant saluted, then climbed down into the waiting boat.  
  
Eccleston watched him a moment, then turned to the division chiefs, who were ready to deliver their reports. This was going to be a long day. 


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: Horatio Hornblower does not belong to me, nor do any of the other cannon ;-) characters, stories, books, etc. I.e., *NOT* my intellectual property.  
  


* * *

  
The Lieutenant automatically cycled through the reports and gave the appropriate orders while his mind grappled with another matter: who to send aboard the Papillon as prize master.  
  
For a vessel that size, Eccleston would've preferred to assign a lieutenant, but with Chadd's demise and the current state of affairs on the Indy, Eccleston could not go, and he certainly could not spare Mr. Bracegirdle...which left the mids.  
  
Hornblower was the obvious choice, the lieutenant conceded, but he dared not send the lad and suffer Captain Pellew's ire. The Captain would likely want to resolve the Hornblower-Simpson situation as expeditiously as posible...which wouldn't be possible if Hornblower was off sailing a prize vessel in the middle of the Atlantic!  
  
Simpson? Tempting though the prospect was, if Hornblower's accusations--and the Captain's conjecture--were true, Eccleston would never entrust a ship's well-being to Simpson. Heh, not that Simpson could navigate his way down the Thames, mind!  
  
Oh, if only Kennedy hadn't been lost! This would have been the ideal opportunity to test his mettle! The Captain had been after Eccleston to devise some such "tests" for the young man, and now that an opportunity had arrived-- The lieutenant shrugged. What a waste!  
  
Then there were Cleveland and Hether, virtually mirror images of one another, diligent enough he supposed, but with mediocre navigational and non-existent leadership skills. The had already surpassed their performance whilst aboard the Justinian, but Eccleston felt they still needed some more seasoning before they were ready to assume command of a sea-going vessel. If only the Captain had spared more concern for their own development instead of concentrating on Hornblower and Kennedy! Oh well, that was a broken reed.  
  
Then there were the mids Pellew had acquired from elsewhere, mostly too young and inexperienced, except...  
  
"Pass the word for Mr. Prim."  
  
No one questioned the blocky young man's capability; indeed, he'd once made acting lieutenant on another vessel. No, the midshipman's problem was his ambition, or rather his lack thereof.  
  
"Lieutenant Eccleston, sir!"  
  
The lieutenant forebore to comment on the midshipman's tar- bespattered uniform--probably involved in the repairs, he realized. "Mr. Prim, you are to take command of Papillon as her prize commander and sail her back to the closest British port. Mr. Bowles will be able to provide you with our current coordinates."  
  
"Aye, sir," the youth said cautiously as his eyes swept the deck.  
  
Sudden comprehension pulsed within the acting captain. "Mr. Bowles and Lieutenant Bracegirdle are on the Papillon. The latter will assist you in assembling a prize crew. Understood?"  
  
"Aye, sir."  
  
"Very well; on your way, then."  
  
Coincidentally the jolly boat arrived from the Papillon at this moment. The stocky midshipman waited for the more slender man to disembark and climb up, then himself descended into the jolly boat.  
  
"Sir, Lieutenant Bracegirdle told me to report, sir."  
  
"At ease, Mr. Hornblower." The shoulders relaxed only marginally. Eccleston sighed. If only he could undo those first months aboard the Justinian! "I wanted to inform you that the captain has been temporarily indisposed." The youth's eyes widened. "He should be fine, and once he's conscious I'll make him aware of your 'complaint.' But in the meantime..."  
  
Hornblower's face fell, but he didn't say anything. Likely he suspected it was not good news. God, how Eccleston hated to say this! But did he really have a choice? "...in the meantime we're short on watch- keeping officers, and-- C'mon man, don't look at me that way! The Captain isn't well, Lieutenant Chadd's dead, Mr. Kennedy's lost, Mr. Prim's commanding the Papillon, and the Indy's in a very sorry state of repair. You and Simpson will just have to set aside your antagonism temporarily for the good of the ship, until the Captain can decide on the matter."  
  
"The man tried to kill me, sir--and it wasn't the first time either! And somehow I'm just supposed to work with him--"  
  
This insolence infuriated the lieutenant. "You're *just* supposed to follow your superior officer's orders! Is that clear, midshipman?"  
  
"Aye aye, sir." Hornblower infused his words with the greatest reluctance.  
  
Eccleston sighed. He could understand the youth's displeasure, as the lieutenant wasn't too thrilled with the situation himself. If only the Captain were sensible! "If it makes you feel any better, Mr. Hornblower, I will be instructing Mr. Simpson to keep his distance from you as well," he murmured low. "But first I want you to report to the ship's surgeon and have that head wound checked out."  
  
"Aye, sir."  
  
"Dismissed."  
  
And what to do with Simpson? He couldn't clap the man in irons without definitive proof. Indeed, his transferring command to Hornblower aboard the Papillon was highly irregular in and of itself and would likely raise the eyebrows of his superiors. And in Hornblower's current state, Eccleston dared not allow him and Simpson to berth together; the younger man likely could not defend himself from Simpson when shipshape, but with a head wound? He'd stand no chance. The lieutenant hoped that Hepplewhite would keep the lad in sick berth overnight, but the surgeon never liked to coddle his patients (especially when it entailed extra work on his end!) and, frankly, Eccleston's luck just wasn't running that good recently.  
  
There were Lieutenant Chadd's quarters, though.  
  
But to billet Simpson in a lieutenant's quarters? The crew would draw false conclusions from this fact...as would Simpson himself. No no, that would never do; best to lodge Hornblower there and berth Simpson with the other mids. It wasn't as though Simpson were terrorizing the other mids, was it? Nonetheless Eccleston felt as though he were missing *something*, something important.  
  
Oh well; everything would sort itself out once Captain Pellew recovered.  
  
Wouldn't it? 


	3. Chapter 3

A/n: J & thwap131: Howdy! Thank you for your encouragement! I'm glad you're enjoying this humble work. (Un)fortunately I'm having a hard time *not* writing this, so...here's chappy 3. And please feel free to provide critical feedback. If something doesn't work right, then I'd be much happier finding out than wondering what I'm doing wrong. ;-) Thanks!  
  


* * *

  
DISCLAIMER: Hornblower, the Indy, etc., are NOT my intellectual property. I do not derive any income or profit whatsoever from this. I just do this for kicks.  
  


* * *

  
Midshipman Hornblower left the sickberth in a haze.  
  
This couldn't be happening. It had to be a dream. In a moment or two he would awaken and find himself safe and snug in his hammock, and everything would be right once more.  
  
But nothing would ever be right again.  
  
For he had struck down his best, and only, friend in a supreme act of cowardice. Yes, Archie was having a fit, and yes, he was making a lot of noise and possibly endangering the mission, but that was no excuse; Horatio had been a doctor's son, and he should have known better. Horatio could have come up with another way of silencing him: gagging him, restraining him, muffling his cries, anything--anything! But no, he had panicked, he'd been afraid the French would hear, so instead of rationally considering his options, he did the first thing that occurred to him, and dashed his friend's head in.  
  
Lieutenant Eccleston had lauded him for this so-called "demonstration of initiative under trying circumstances," or somesuch. Those were pretty words, and Eccleston might even have believed them, but the Captain would have known better. Horatio had cost the Service yet another midshipman, bringing his grand total back up to two, because Simpson--  
  
Simpson!  
  
That bullying blackguard had only been aboard for--what was it?--less than a day, and he'd already turned Horatio's life into a nightmare. Hornblower suspected the man's mere presence had caused Archie's fit (although Horatio hesitated to consider how Simpson could inspire such boundless terror in his normally stolid friend). What was Eccleston *thinking* anyway when he assigned Simpson to their boat?!  
  
And as if that weren't enough, Simpson had tried to kill him! That bastard had had the bloody nerve to shoot him during battle! It's one thing to beat a fellow midshipman belowdecks in Spithead during peacetime; it's another matter entirely to potentially sabotage a mission by attempting murder against another naval officer. In short, Simpson was a traitor! And if Simpson would betray his Country out of personal spite, revenge, what else would he do? Or more to the point: was there anything Simpson *wouldn't* do?  
  
The Indy wasn't safe as long as Simpson prowled its decks! Why didn't Eccleston see this? Or did he not want to see? God knew the lieutenant had found gracious little fault with Simpson aboard the Justinian.  
  
Captain Pellew would never allow Simpson's treachery; the Captain had said so himself. He'd *promised*...and heaven help him, the midshipman had believed him. But now? Now the Captain was laid up--at least for now--and Hornblower would have to stand alone.  
  
Eventually Simpson would find him and confront him.  
  
Horatio couldn't count on the officers to prevent this: Eccleston, for all his good intentions, seemed to have a curious blind spot where Simpson was concerned, and the other officers were constrained to follow the lieutenant's lead. Horatio would find no support among the midshipmen either: the only ones old enough to resist Simpson were Cleveland and Hether, and as they had cowered away from Simpson even in Captain Pellew's presence, Hornblower expected them to fall under Simpson's dominion once more.  
  
He would worry about that later. First he would eat and rest, as Doctor Hepplewhite bade him. Hornblower made to turn down the passageway, when he felt rough hands suddenly grasp him about the shoulders and shove him to the side.  
  
"Hello, Snotty! Jack's been waiting for you." 


	4. Chapter 4

A/n: Hi! Here's chapter 4. Again, if anything in here peeves you, please feel free to let me know. I'm not a shrinking violet.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Horatio Hornblower, its characters and universe do *not* belong to me. I don't make any money off this, and I'm not entitled to any $$$ for this either. Then again, if somebody had money, I think they'd be better off buying a book of Shakespeare or Dickens or someone else, instead of patronizing my attempts at fanfiction.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"What the devil is going on here?" Bracegirdle demanded as he strode into the sick berth.  
  
The lieutenant did not miss how the two midshipmen shared a long glance before Cleveland spoke. "We found Mr. Hornblower below, sir. He'd," another nervous glance, "fallen, sir. Overbalanced, we think."  
  
"Did he really?" Bracegirdle asked in a deceptively mild tone. The veteran had seen many injuries during his career; if anything, young Hornblower's approximated those of a brawl more than a mere fall into a hold. "And did either of you...*gentlemen* happen to witness this fall?"  
  
Yet another look. "Yes, sir."  
  
"Hmm." Bracegirdle clasped his hands and stared all the more earnestly at the pair. "Then it's very fortunate that you happened to arrive when you did. I can only imagine how much worse he'd fare if he had not received such prompt medical attention."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
The lieutenant said nothing further; but neither did he dismiss the men. After a few moments of awkward silence, Hether elaborated, "We were looking for Mr. Hornblower, sir. We'd heard what had happened to Mr. Kennedy, and since they were close, we thought we'd see how he was doing and--and offer him whatever comfort we could."  
  
"How very Christian of you. Mr. Hornblower should be thankful he has friends such as yourselves upon whom he can rely." He afixed them both with his most searching stare, one which they did not meet. Surely they wouldn't continue in this obfuscation?  
  
Both men shifted slightly in place. Mr Cleveland responded with a weak, "Thank you, sir."  
  
"It's the least we could do, sir," Mr. Hether chimed in. Cleveland's shoulders stiffened minutely.  
  
Bracegirdle nodded sharply even as he observed their curious interplay. Disgusted, he turned towards the dithering ship's surgeon, who was placing compresses upon the young midshipman's forehead. "Well, Dr. Hepplewhite, *did* Mr. Hornblower fall?"  
  
A frightened expression filtered through the doctor's eyes before he answered. "His injuries are consistent with a fall..."  
  
"That's not what I asked, doctor. Did Mr. Hornblower *fall*?"  
  
Hepplewhite paused for the slightest fraction of a second before he answered, "Yes, sir." Perhaps no one else, save the Captain, would have marked the hesitation; but Bracegirdle did.  
  
"Really? Because you don't sound all that certain, if I may say so myself."  
  
Bracegirdle was treated to the sight of two midshipmen and one ship's surgeon flinching in unison. "Well, I didn't see him fall, but from his injuries and the nature of his earlier complaint--"  
  
"--More importantly, I wonder whether Mr. Hornblower will recall events as you've depicted them." The normally jovial lieutenant permitted himself a narrow smile.  
  
"I couldn't say, sir," Hepplewhite answered, not at all flustered this time. "With his recent head trauma, I shouldn't be surprised if he believes he supped with the Queen." The doctor barked an unconvincing burst of laughter; the two midshipmen chuckled half-heartedly.  
  
Lieutenant Bracegirdle, on the other hand, did not laugh. "Dr. Hepplewhite, let me see if I understand, sir. It is your *opinion* that Mr. Hornblower's head wounds caused his fall into the hold and also will taint his remembrance of the accident...?" He stared interrogatively at the surgeon.  
  
"Aye, sir," Hepplewhite responded dispassionately.  
  
"I cannot help but wonder, then, that a man so grossly impaired would be allowed from the cockpit at all!"  
  
The doctor flushed. "I admit I made an error in judgement, sir, and I willingly accept all the consequences for my action. But he did insist, and as he was to rest for the next two days within Lieutenant Chadd's quarters..." Hepplewhite held up his hands.  
  
Bracegirdle had been surreptitiously watching the two midshipmen for some clue to break their equanimity. He had not enjoyed any success. Upon the doctor's disclosure of the berthing arrangements, however, the younger man--Hether--jerked slightly as though slapped. Envy then, resentment perhaps--quite understandable, given Captain Pellew's obsession with young Hornblower--but still no anger or hatred, or at least none visible. Then why...?  
  
The ageing doctor continued to prattle, "...And even if his initial injury weren't overly severe, falling will have jarred his head and made it worse. That is my considered medical opinion, sir."  
  
He would take one more crack at the doctor, then. "You admit then that your decision compromised Mr. Hornblower's welfare?"  
  
Usually such direct attacks to a ship surgeon's pride would be met with nettle and venom. Not this time, however; Hepplewhite refused to be baited. "Indirectly and unintentionally, but...ultimately? Perhaps so, sir," was the reluctant admission.  
  
The afternoon's tangle left the lieutenant extremely exercised. Something was going on--something to do with that saucy Simpson; Bracegirdle was positive about it! And yet he had no proof to substantiate his suspicion, not even so much as a medical report. By George, the players had even provided a means to explain away any discrepency between their account and the lad's (and Bracegirdle did not doubt that Hornblower's version would vary radically from the other midshipmen's)! On paper everything would look plausible, aboveboard and pat, *too* damme pat actually, never mind that in person this entire situation stank of fear and deceit.  
  
The lieutenant ground his teeth. If he were the captain, he would cajole, upbraid, threaten, do everything necessary not merely to extract the truth from these men (although that was important as well), but--more importantly--to ascertain why three otherwise upstanding officers would suddenly decide to equivocate before their superior.  
  
But that was the crux, wasn't it? Bracegirdle *wasn't* the captain, wasn't even Number One, and therefore had no right to interfere in a seemingly murky issue--"seemingly," as the slimmest possibility existed that they *were* telling the truth. So Bracegirdle would duly inform Eccleston and Captain Pellew of his misgivings in the strongest terms, which comprised the limit of his authority.  
  
Eventually the Captain would awaken, eventually he would take charge of matters and resolve them for the good of the ship. Could they wait that long? They didn't have a choice! In the meantime, however, the lieutenant would observe, question, reflect...and plan. 


	5. Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER: Horatio Hornblower is not my intellectual property. I am not associated with the entities who possess the rights to Horatio Hornblower. I do not accrue any profit from this story.  
  
A/n: If something is not to your liking, please feel free to let me know. :)  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
His mind undulated sluggishly within the tenebrosity, memories merging with fancies and speculation. The reeling wrongness of his thoughts nettled him, harried him, roused him, until he rose from the depths of unconsciousness.  
  
The first thing he noticed was the agony burning within his left leg. Shortly thereafter the nausea roiling within his stomach made itself known to him as well. His hands tightened their clench upon the blanket as he opened his eyelids, and he became aware of two golden-flecked eyes studying him, suddenly widening. His watcher stood still for a moment, then hurriedly turned away.  
  
He closed his eyes again for an instant as his stomach sought to master him, but he dared not plunge into the darkness again: he was a King's man and had responsibilities. Thus it was that he overheard the following.  
  
"Dr. Hepplewhite, sir!" a treble voice breathlessly called. "I think the Captain's coming around. His eyes are open--"  
  
A surly voice answered, "You best be right, boy, or else I'll cuff your ears."  
  
"Sick berth, then. How delightful," he thought to himself, sarcasm temporarily overcoming his fuzzy-headedness. And then he remembered: the battle, the Papillon sailing in to the rescue, the splinter, being taken below... They had apparently prevailed, if he were being tended to in his own ship's sick berth.  
  
The youth--Midshipman White, Pellew amended automatically--scampered ahead and reached the Captain's side several seconds before the sedately ambulating surgeon. The doctor rested his hands upon his hips, jutted his head forward, and squinted. Hepplewhite's expression untensed slightly. "You were right," he grumbled to the midshipman. "Wixter!" he shouted for the lolloby boy.  
  
"How are you feeling, sir?" Hepplewhite inquired.  
  
Pellew's eyes narrowed. He would've like to have castigated the doctor: he was the captain, damn it, and could not afford to have his wits muddled by laudanum, *especially* while his ship was engaged with the enemy. His men, his officers, the admiralty, the King himself--everyone depended upon him to lead this ship, to perform his duty, which Pellew couldn't jolly well do if some sorry excuse for a surgeon had dosed him into oblivion.  
  
The captain opened his mouth to say precisely that, but instead he started to cough. Thirsty too, damn! Once he became aware of it, his throat seemed to throb in its searing need for water.  
  
Wixter slopped some water into a cup and held it to his captain's lips. Pellew reluctantly allowed these ministrations, in an attempt not to worry a youngster already unsettled by serving his captain.  
  
"Please hold still, if you please, captain. You were hit bad, sir; a splinter almost severed the main artery, and Lieutenant Bracegirdle said the trouble was past. The battle was won." The pleading quality of those words contrasted with the annoyed expression on the surgeon's face.  
  
"Hmm," was his non-commital response. He would discuss Bracegirdle's presumption later on...alone *with* Bracegirdle! But first things first. The water had restored his throat enough for him to rasp, "Mr. Eccleston." He assumed Mr. White was clever enough to understand his meaning.  
  
The midshipman did not disappoint. "Aye-aye, sir; I'll get him at once, sir." The youth vanished.  
  
Hopefully he would not require Eccleston to reprise his report in a couple of hours, Pellew snorted to himself. His thoughts seemed strangely...distant somehow, as though barely tethered to him. Hmph! Probably a side effect of that damnable medicine, just like this infernal headache and the aching thirst that the water barely slaked. He would have liked another cup, if only it wouldn't unsettle his stomach further! At least it would wash away the unpleasant flavor in his mouth.  
  
The surgeon continued to attend to him in silence with Wixter's nervous aid: removing the bandages, checking the wound, cleansing the wound site, and re-covering the injury. "It won't be long now, sir, before you can return to your quarters. We were concerned about jarring your leg along the way."  
  
The captain noticed a coward's way with words, how the doctor used the "we" to justify *his* decision, as though young Wixter would have any say in the matter. Just as well Hepplewhite was merely a ship's surgeon! Not command officer's material, not at all!  
  
At least there didn't appear to be too many seamen under the doctor's care right now, if the relative silence were a reliable indication. Pellew shifted slightly for a better prospect of the berth, and thereby earned a second hissed warning from Hepplewhite, which he promptly ignored. His eyes swept the area, and despite his blurring and darkening vision, he discerned that most of the hammocks were currently unoccupied, except--  
  
"Hornblower?" he croaked. Yes by God, that *was* Hornblower, wasn't it, with those tousled curls and battered face. Battered face? Unusual resistance upon the Papillon, perhaps? But where were his men, then? Wouldn't they have been injured as well?  
  
Hepplewhite sighed. "Yes, sir. Nothing that can't be fixed, sir."  
  
The ship's surgeon refused to speak further, so Pellew's mind continued to extrapolate and reject scenarios until he was quite asleep once more. 


	6. Chapter 6

Clotho: Hi! Thanks for your very kind words! But hey, if you feel you'd like to argue w/ the ending of any episodes, please feel free to do so. I value your judgment. :-) QED. But thank you for the information as well. I'm really looking forward to more of your incredible writing.  
  
A/n: Once again, if you see something awry here, or if you really dislike this story attempt, please feel free to let me know. I'm not thin-skinned. Critical feedback is golden. :-D Of course, if you'd like to say nice things, I wouldn't mind that either. ;-)  
  
I hope you enjoy...  
  
DISCLAIMER: Horatio Hornblower is not my intellectual property. I'm in no way associated with whoever owns the rights to Horatio Hornblower. I do not earn, nor seek to earn, compensation for writing this.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Lieutenant Eccleston rubbed his eyes upon returning above. His lack of sleep, occasioned by last night's cutting-out, the morning's battle, and the concomitant repairs made the late afternoon brightness abovedecks all the more piercing, especially in comparison to the dulling darkness below.  
  
He was completely fagged, yet he dared not retire, not yet. As the senior lieutenant, he alone was in command here. He alone should see to all the repairs and receive the division heads' reports. Captain Pellew would have done no less, so neither could his first lieutenant.  
  
It was a credit to Captain Pellew that, even as he lay incapcitated in his cabin, his crew labored relentlessly--indefatigably--at the necessary repairs. It would have taken the old Justinian just about double the time to effect the same repairs--and these were mostly the same men! Still, a layer of doubt lingered at the periphery of Eccleston's mind: somehow, in some way, the Captain would have set the Indefatigable to rights much more rapidly than he had managed.  
  
Later Pellew would likely review his missteps in excruciating detail-- not as the dismissive "dressing down" he would have received under Keene, but instead under the guise of "advice" for when Eccleston earned his own command. So be it. He felt flattered, awed almost, that the Captain would devote so much attention to a lieutenant originally imposed upon him by the Admiralty. He only hoped that someday he might live up to the man's confidence in him.  
  
If the Captain would only awaken! Or, more to the point, *stay* awake!  
  
More petty officers requested his attention, among whom was one of the younger midshipmen, Mr. Worthington. Despite the lad's relative youth and inexperience, Mr. Cleveland had done a good job in making the young gentleman useful. The boy was obviously nervous, but when it was his turn to speak, he relayed the necessary information well enough. Eccleston thanked the youth man and dismissed him, but for some reason the lad lingered as though he wished to say something.  
  
Captain Keene, or Lieutenant Chadd, or he himself might have dismissed the boy brusquely, but Eccleston remembered some of Pellew's advice. "Is there anything more I can do for you, midshipman?" he asked in a gentler tone than he might once have employed.  
  
The boy hesitated, then said, "Yes, Lieutenant Eccleston, sir." He gulped. "Begging your pardon, sir, but Mr. White, Mr. O'Neil and I, we were wondering who was senior, sir."  
  
The lieutenant's eyebrows arched upwards as understanding began to dawn on him.  
  
The anxious boy spoke more hurriedly, "I mean in the Midshipmen's berth, sir. No offense, Lieutenant; we all were reporting to Mr. Prim, but now that he's on Papillon, and there's the new mid--"  
  
Ah. He had to give the boy credit for daring to ask. "Perhaps I should clarify. Mr. Simpson is here as a...courtesy; the Captain has not granted him an official position on this ship as yet, and nor do I have the authority," or desire, Eccleston added silently, "to do so."  
  
Was he mistaken, or did Worthington look a trifle more at ease? Damn! For not the first time, Eccleston found himself wondering what the blazes had gone on aboard the Justinian.  
  
He stared seriously at the youth. He was navigating between Scylla and Charybdis now: he could neither place the boy under Simpson's authority, but nor could he turn the older mid into an object of derision. Discipline must be served, after all. "I would *suggest* that you treat Mr. Simpson with the respect and deference befitting his years at sea," the midshipman wilted minutely, "but for the time being you will be reporting directly to Mr. Cleveland."  
  
Once again the relief was almost palpable. "Aye-aye, Lieutenant. Thank you, Lieutenant."  
  
Worthington seemed ready to dash off, but Eccleston held his hand aloft. "Mr. Worthington. If anything...*untoward* were to occur, I trust you would bring it to my or Lieutenant Bracegirdle's attention. Is that understood?"  
  
The lieutenant peered intently at him and would not let the lad look away. Finally the midshipman swallowed and nodded. "Aye, Sir; I promise."  
  
"Very good." The lieutenant allowed himself a smile. "You are dismissed."  
  
The boy saluted and scampered belowdecks.  
  
Lieutenant Eccleston watched him go. Hopefully they had just prevented a reprise of the Justinian.  
  
Or had he just made matters worse? 


End file.
